I'm a Mean Woman Sometimes...

Not very often, of course. Most of the time I am a fairly happy and wildly optimistic person. I like to think of myself as a playful little sea otter spirit inhabiting a human body. I smile a lot and am full of jokes and good cheer. In short, I am a constant joy and a wonderful to be around**. One chick I used to dance with even nicknamed me Mary Sunshine.

Although usually she'd say it like, "shut the fuck up, Mary Sunshine. No one gives a rat's ass!"

Yeah, I wasn't too popular at The Boobie Barn. I like to talk a lot, and dancers - at least most of the ones I've met - don't like to discuss the kind of topics that get me all excited and blathering. Like, for instance, the nature of consciousness, conspiracy theories, or how on December 21, 2012, I expect us all to turn into butterfly people. For some reason stuff that fascinates me bores and irritates most of these ladies.

Once, when I tried to share my theory that the TV show "The Facts of Life" was a great allegory for our world with Mrs. Garret representing God and Blair, Jo, Tootie, and Natalie as the four archetypes of humanity, someone squirted FDS spray in my face.

(Sigh)

It's so hard being a Tootie in a world full of Jo's.

Anyway, as I was saying, I rarely get really pissed off or even cranky. But some days...well... let's just say they are the reason that I don't own a gun.

It seems like these moods always tend to coincide with getting my period. But that's probably just a coincidence, right?

I had one of those types of days recently and was told that it wasn't pretty. I don't remember what happened exactly because intense rage kinda makes me black out. (The Vicodin I took for the cramps may have - ahem - contributed to that as well). Luckily my best friend Paula Abdul was hanging out with me and she snapped a few pictures with her new camera. She just emailed them to me. Let's check them out together, shall we? Hopefully they aren't too embarrassing.






Oh yeah, I remember this. It was early in the morning and I was leaving Big Earl's after a hard night of ass shakin'. I had to hoof it as I had just smashed the windshields of every car in the parking lot with a baseball bat, including my own. (What can I say, once you get started it's hard to stop.)

That guy in the picture is my weed dealer. He told me he was out of everything except shitty dirt weed and that was still going to cost me $50, so I popped him in the face. Guess I'll have to apologize if I ever want to get the good stuff again.








Hmmm, this is from later in the afternoon when I took my car in to get fixed. I had hoped a nap and some Starbucks would sweeten my mood, but they had little effect. The bill was outrageous! Plus, that damn mechanic had a really smarmy attitude, and was probably trying to gouge me because I'm a girl and know nothing about cars, so I grabbed him by the hair and banged his head against the wall until he agreed to throw in a free oil change and tire rotation.

Meh, I don't feel too guilty about that one.







Ugh, this happened while I was driving my grandma to the laser clinic to have her tattoos removed. I should have known better. She was REALLY getting on my nerves, talking about how wonderful Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin are, and how she was going to sell her house to send them the money so they could restore America's honor or some sort of griftery bullshit. She had just gotten to the part about how she planned to move in with my mom and me, when I spotted a bag boy from the Kroger I frequent, loping happily along on his skateboard. Suddenly, I remembered the time he had put a carton of eggs and loaf of bread in the same bag as some canned goods and my rage exploded!

So, I pulled over real quick and kicked him in the face. Grandma was a little confused as to why I was beating up such a nice-looking boy who was probably single, and I wasn't getting any younger and my eggs were going to be dried up soon, etc, blah, blah, blah. In order to shut her up, I hollered out that he was a socialist who supported Obamacare.

Well, that worked really well. Too well, actually. Grandma called him a no-good, red commanist and smacked him in the nuts with her purse. Since her purse is always loaded down with about 20 prescription drug bottles full of pills (no fun ones unfortunately), several books, several more books on tape (Grandma is suspicious of CDs), a few yard sale tchotkes, and at least three shelves worth of Walgreen's pharmacy items - it probably hurt a lot. I remember he made this kind of half groan/half screaming gurgle and dropped to the ground clutching himself.

Dammit, he IS pretty cute. Hopefully he'll forgive me and is still able to have children. Thank goodness Paula was there to stop Grandma from smacking him again.






What the...?

Oh yeah, Paula must have taken that one while we were at the bar, waiting for Grandma's laser session to be over. It took a while. She has a lot of shitty tattoos.








Wow, I have no memory of this one at all and neither does Paula. Maybe Grandma took it? Where is Grandma anyway? I don't think I've seen her since then.

Oh well, no matter. See how much happier I look? My eyebrow furrows are completely gone. That just goes to show you that a little ass-kicking and a whole lot of alcohol are the very best cure for cramps.




**Exceptions include the times when I'm hungover, suicidal, feeling fat, itchy, bored, am out of drugs, or can't stand one more minute of my mother's nagging.